It’s a nice thought, mapping the future in magazine clippings, with tidy captions—
abundance, alignment, the life I deserve, xoxoxo
[Image is satire…for now.]
But I prefer to take a sweaty walk through the wreckage of all my darling plans that didn’t quite reach the magnitude I imagined them to be; yet still whisper, thank you and try again you silly little shit.
And unfortunately the only fuel my padded-wagon will take is pure Pranoia.
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